


any other love

by thinksideways



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Anne & many of her ladies, Anne's POV, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, warm and tender feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 07:06:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19168255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinksideways/pseuds/thinksideways
Summary: "I love, and only love, the fairer sex. My heart revolts from any other love than theirs. These feelings haven’t wavered or deviated since childhood. I was born like this. And I act as my God-given nature dictates."There have been many women in Anne Lister's life.





	any other love

**Author's Note:**

> why focus on responsibilities when there's important wlw content to write about

Eliza is the first. Barely fifteen and naive, Anne doesn’t know what these feelings are, at first, why her stomach hurts whenever she’s around her, why her heart flutters wild as a bird in her chest. She makes every excuse she can to be around her, orbiting her, as if Eliza is the sun, and Anne, a planet desperate for her light.

They become friends, roommates in an attic bedroom that they call the slope. It’s a small space, the walls angled in sharp enough that Anne can really only stand upright in the center of it, but the place never feels cramped, perhaps because she thinks she can never get close enough to Eliza; that if she could, she’d never stop touching her.

The touches are innocent, at first, because neither one knows much of the direction to take it in. Never further than clasped hands and embraces, all common between the girls in their school, who fall upon each other constantly. This is no different, Anne tells herself. This is just how friends act.

It might have stayed that way for much too long, except one night Eliza, never the strongest-willed of girls, wakes Anne with a nightmare, and Anne takes her into her bed, holds her, and it is in this moment when the feelings that had lived within her ever since she was a child spring into sharp relief, a previously blurry imaging coming into sharp focus.

 _I could kiss her_ , Anne thinks as they lay side by side, her arm over her, protective. As if hearing her thoughts, Eliza looks up at her. Her eyes are soft and open wide, and she is so beautiful that Anne can hardly breathe.

She’ll never be sure who kissed who first, in the end it only matters that their lips collide, and it’s in that moment that something unfurls within Anne, blooming like a sacrament rose. She cups Eliza’s cheek, kisses her deeper, and when they finally part Anne says _I love you, I love you, I love you_.

 

***

 

She doesn’t quite know what to do with her the first time Eliza is laid out in her bed, naked as the day she was born. She starts with kissing her - lips and ears and neck and collarbone, works lower, mouth across her breasts - she spends quite some time there - and then to her stomach, her hips, her thighs, and Eliza is squirming with a new want, saying Anne’s name over and over again, and it doesn’t take much from there to figure out where her mouth should go next.

 

***

 

Eliza is the first and for a long time Anne thinks she will be the last, the only. But they are apart, after school, and they do not see much of one another, and there are other women, and they, too, are beautiful and wanting, and Anne is all too easily bewitched by them.

 

***

 

(Eliza rages when she comes to know of this, screams and tears at Anne’s clothes, at her skin, until her brother takes her away. She is taken to the asylum. Anne does not visit, and does not speak of her feelings to anyone; the crushing guilt of it is a secret she takes to her grave.)

 

***

 

Eliza was the first, every first, and the ghost of her haunts each new lover Anne encounters, there is no one she touches without thinking, at least briefly, of the beautiful, mad girl in the slope whom she once so loved.

 

***

 

Anne meets Isabella ( _call me Tib_ , she says upon their introduction, laughing) at a dinner, bonded by the fact they each drank a titch too much wine. Tib stays the night not long after, and she is bold in her wants, and loud, too, crying out at such a volume that Anne is forced to slap a hand over her mouth, lest they wake the entire household.

She likes Tib’s boldness - Anne is certainly no shrinking violet herself - but she comes to find that the boldness stems from wine more oft than not. It doesn’t bother her, not at first, when she is warm off the glow of Tib’s affections, but the novelty wears off soon.

Anne is the one who leaves, though Tib begs, swears she’ll stop drinking, but this is an argument they’ve had too many times before. Anne doesn’t cry until Tib is out of sight.

 

***

 

Tib is gone, but what remains is a friendship. Tib had introduced her to Mariana - Mary - at a party, and their friendship continued after the business with Tib was done. Mary is different, smart, funny, and Anne is enchanted by her.

They pick up quickly enough, and for the first time since Eliza, Anne thinks she might have found a last.

 

***

 

She realizes she loves Mary as they lay sprawled in a bed somewhere in France. They’d come to see the Alps. The first sight of the mountains had staggered them both, the rock and snow scraping against the very sky, dominating the landscape. It was worlds away from the rolling hills of Shibden, but Anne found it lovely, in a way, their roughness, their command of the space.

(Mayhap she has something in common, there.)

It is not mountains she thinks of now, though, even in their shadow - she is caught up in how the sun plays over Mary’s face. Mary is asleep, or pretending to be, but Anne cannot help but stroke her hand over her soft cheek.

It feels real, this, which is why when Mary opens her eyes Anne says nothing, because the words _I love you_ suddenly have such a weight to them, one she is not yet sure she can bear.

 

***

 

She tells her later on that same trip, when they’ve made it to Paris, a wild, raucous city where Anne fits in seamlessly.

Mary smiles, her face lighting up as if cast in alpine sun, and says, _oh Anne, I love you too_.

Anne thinks it is the happiest she has ever been.

 

***

 

When Mary first mentions a Mr. Charles Lawton Anne thinks little of it. Mary meets new people all the time - they both do - and Anne spares little thought to the man, who is old and rich and not worth thinking much of at all.

But Mary mentions his name again, and again, and the first seed of worry plants itself in Anne’s mind. She does her best to dismiss it - she and Mary are happy, after all. They are in love.

Mary breaks the news of her engagement and it’s like an earthquake, Anne feels as if the floor is falling out from under her. She falls to her knees and wails, a primal, animal cry, hands fisted in her skirts. The world spins, blurred from her tears, and her screams shape into words, into _no, no, no_ -

(Later, she will look back, and think of how blind she was - all the signs she missed. She will write on it and wonder if the situation could have been diverted, if she could have kissed or slapped Mr. Lawton’s name from Mary’s mouth.)

 

***

 

It’s not the end, the wedding. Mary invites herself back into Anne’s bed, and Anne lets her, because she’s loved no one as much as she has Mary, but she never looks at her the same way again, after.

 _When he dies..._ Mary says, making promises that are so deep into the future Anne cannot see them, but Anne lets her, because sometimes, it’s nice to pretend.

 

***

 

Anne goes back to Paris even if the city is lit in heartache. She intends to erase those memories, to make new ones that dull Mary’s memory.

She studies anatomy, throws herself into it under Dr. Cuvier’s tutelage, learns bone and tendon. It’s messy, distracting work, and she’s grateful for her dirtied hands, because when she’s wrist deep in a corpse examining a smoker’s lungs, there’s no room for thoughts of romance.

But it is lonely, these studies, and when Maria Barlow walks into her life, Anne cannot help but pursue her.

Maria is a widow, and uncomplicated. Her anatomy is far more pleasant to study, and Maria is a willing subject, once Anne’s talked to her a bit.

(Mary comes to visit once during this time. It’s the usual sleeping arrangements. She doesn’t tell Maria of this. She only tells her an old friend is visiting, but does not speak to the nature of these visits, though Maria suspects.)

Anne ends it, eventually, because although Maria is lovely and enjoyable, higher society doesn’t suit her, and she lacks the means to advance.

(And try as she might, Anne can never quite shake Mary from her mind. Or her bed.)

 

***

 

Ann.

Ann is beautiful, well-bred, and rich, everything Anne wants (though not necessarily in that order). Anne is experienced, at this point, and thinks it won’t take long before she has her in bed. It’s easy enough to see how Ann practically trembles beneath Anne’s stare.

 _I think you’re a little bit in love with me,_ she tells Ann not long after they’re reacquainted, and Ann doesn’t deny it, not exactly, and Anne’s confidence grows.

It is not meant to matter so much but the first time Ann asks if Anne will kiss her, she finds herself overcome, bringing her lips to Ann’s hands, her neck, her ears, as if she could not bear touching her own lips to Anns’.

When she does, she is reminded of her first kiss, the one in the slope, her feelings springing into sharp relief. Not the feelings of loving the fairer sex - Anne has known this for decades now - but a same sort of _rightness_ , of stars aligning. A image coming into view, crystalizing.

 

***

 

Ann reveals herself gradually, and Anne learns that there is more to her, that she has the depth of oceans. She is compelled to be around her, finding every excuse, bewitched, utterly, by this woman.

She had not expected this, had thought her days of falling so foolishly in love were gone. Ann was meant to be a practicality; she was not supposed to fall for her - not so hard and so fast, at least, for she’s still gathering evidence to make sure Ann is a suitable fit for her lifestyle.

The heart wants what it wants, she supposes, but is she really ready to want this? She is still so ill from wanting.

(Mary writes, still. Anne writes back, making sure _Miss Walker_ is featured prominently in her letters. Mary writes less, after that.)  

She proposes taking the sacrament together, becoming companions, and when Ann initially agrees it’s like Anne’s releasing some long-held breath, she takes Ann into her arms and kisses her until Ann is the one who’s breathless.

 

***

 

Ann reneges, though, walks back her promises as guilt and a biblical madness overwhelm, and Anne, who has been rejected plenty of times in her years, does not expect it to hurt quite as much as it does.

She is ready to excise Ann from her life, to move on (again), but she keeps finding her way back. She shouldn’t - the girl is all too poorly for her, indecisive thing that she is, and can you imagine taking her out of the country? She’s too prone to alarm, to illness, to waffling in her choices.

(The ring arrives and Anne glares at it. The sun catches and it glints, mocking.)

She dreams of Ann, though she wishes not to, and the dreams are tender, which is worse, in a way, than the nightmares Anne is accustomed to. Like glimpsing another lifetime, one where there’s a ring on Ann’s finger.

Ann could have been the last, the culmination. Anne had wanted her to be. Had wanted it so desperately.

 

***

 

When Ann returns from her sister’s house Anne is convinced nothing will change, whatever hope might spark in her is buried deep. She is kind but not warm, which leads to Ann crying, clutching at her, kissing her, saying _I love you, I’ve always loved you,_ and they’ve been here before, and Ann should know - she should know! - that it only leads to heartbreak. But she cannot resist Ann, she gathers her into her arms, kisses tears from her cheeks, strokes her hair, and she swallows her own pain so that she can take away Ann’s, if only for a moment.

 

***

 

 _I got you something,_ Ann says not long after her return, her cheeks red, and she pulls out a small box, opens it. Inside is a ring, a simple band of polished obsidian, dark as coal and absolutely perfect.

 _I want to live with you,_ Ann says, _to marry you._

It’s a dream, maybe, and Anne closes her eyes, thinks, _wake up_. She opens them and the room is quite the same, and Ann’s looking at her, cheeks flushed and eyes pleading, so maybe it’s real, after all.

Anne’s hand is shaking when the ring slides onto it, still unconvinced of the veracity of this moment. But it’s there, solid and gleaming.

_You’ll take the sacrament, then? With me?_

Ann’s answer is a kiss first, and then, _yes_.  

 

***

 

They take the sacrament together, bread on their tongues and lips stained with wine, and it tastes holy, this, and Anne thinks she has never felt so devout. They are witnessed in the church, this union, so many eyes on them and Anne is used to it, but Ann isn’t, and Anne thinks she might run, but she doesn’t so much as waver. It’s as if no one else exists to her but Anne.

She puts the ring on Ann’s finger, later. A private ceremony. Soon enough it’s all Ann’s wearing.

(Ann’s lips taste holy, too. All of her does.)

 

***

 

 _I will love you_ , Anne promises, _until there’s nothing left of me. I will protect you, cherish you, always, always, always_.

 

***

 

Ann is the last.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, comments/kudos greatly appreciated <3 you can also catch me on tumbler @[thinksideways](https://thinksideways.tumblr.com/)
> 
> note that basic information about Anne's lovers comes from [here](https://www.annelister.co.uk/annes-lovers/). Everything else is arbitrarily imagined by me.


End file.
